Because I seem to have misplaced my happiness at the moment and am too lazy to reach for it on such a high shelf.
Slightly AU.
…:::Empty:::…
He is always sitting there.
Always.
Every time the shadows flicker across his window in the night, he is sitting in the same position, with his head bowed low and his body bent. He doesn't move. He simply sits and stares and sighs sometimes.
In the first hour of the shadows passing, he is eating.
He eats on the floor, his slender legs beneath him in a traditional position as he sips his tea from a chipping cup. He always places three more mats around the table, each getting its own respective side. Each mat gets a plate of food, a cup of tea, and a set of cutlery.
But no one is ever there.
Uchiha Sasuke eats anyway. He sips his tea and sometimes, sometimes, he smiles slightly and turns to his left and speaks.
"Mother," he says in a soft voice. "Please, eat your chicken. You are looking rather frail today."
But no one is ever there.
His tone is harsher when he turns to his right.
"Father, your knife is not your sword. Use it gently, or you will scratch the plate."
But no one is ever there.
Uchiha Sasuke simply stares ahead of him and smirks. He does not speak to the mat across from him. It's like he doesn't need to speak to get his message across. A simple smirk will suffice.
As the night draws on, he puts away the empty plates and piles the mats into the corner before he sits down, cross-legged, in front of his mirror. There are pictures there. Framed pictures. Broken pictures. Torn pictures.
Everyday, he smiles and picks them up, one by one. It is always the one on the furthest right that he brings into his grasp. He turns around to look over his shoulder and beckon someone over.
But no one is ever there.
He speaks anyway.
"Look, Mother," his deep voice says gently. "I remember this. Do you remember?"
He points to the only girl in the picture, her hair as pink as the blossoms she is named for.
"She loved me, did you know that?" he whispers softly. "She really loved me. She told me so herself."
He points to the sun-kissed boy with sun-spun locks of hair and a vibrant aura.
"He loved me, too. As a brother. Don't laugh, Mother, I'm being serious. He really loved me."
The man in the background is the next to fall beneath Sasuke's slender finger. He is silent for a while, his dark, dark eyes recalling the memories. He is unsure of what to say for a moment.
"He was my mentor," is all he says. He doesn't think he needs to say more.
The picture is put back – gently, gently, ever-so gently – and a new one is picked up. Obsidian eyes stare for a while. Thin lips perk. Uchiha Sasuke looks over his shoulder once more and beckons over a new person.
"See this, Father?"
It is a family photo.
"This is how happy we used to be. We used to be happy. See? See?"
He points to each smiling face. One is missing. There is a hole where his father's face is supposed to be; the sides are singed and crinkled.
"Except you weren't happy."
He puts the picture down. There are no other pictures to pick up. They all lay scattered around the mirror, their pieces separated from each other, or their shards blood-stained and innumerous.
He always rises from his position and wanders aimlessly through the rest of the house, but after so many aimless wanderings, he has unconsciously created a patterned path for himself. He steps over fallen beams and rubble and moves to the living room.
He doesn't have to open the door. It is always opened.
Angry voices come to his head and he flinches.
"Mother, Father, please. Not so loud. He is sleeping."
And then he glances over his shoulder, smiling, as if to make sure his words are correct. His feet carry him to a new room. It is always cold, but he no longer feels. He is numb. So very numb.
"Itachi," he speaks to the empty bed. "Come on. Let's go train."
He waits for a few seconds in silence, smiling.
Smiling.
When his brother does not respond, he repeats his words. He is hopeful, but everyday, he stands alone in the empty room, waiting, waiting, waiting. And he always receives the same answer.
"Not now, little brother."
So Sasuke turns around and leaves, and he goes back to his bedroom and sits on the floor. He doesn't move. He simply sits and stares and sighs sometimes.
And he tries not to remember that there's no one else in the house but him.
He tries not to remember that there's no one else in Konoha but him.
He tries not to remember.
Not to remember.
He tells himself he's insane, because he tries not to remember that he's not. He's not insane. He wishes he was, because it would make him feel better. Anything would make him feel better.
Because nothing hurt more than the emptiness he was already feeling.